


what would my head be like | without your smile

by CuriouslyRenault



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Cinnamon Roll Newt Scamander, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hugs, Light Angst, M/M, Protective Original Percival Graves, Romantic Fluff, Touch-Starved, touch starvation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-21 19:53:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16583018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriouslyRenault/pseuds/CuriouslyRenault
Summary: A worried Percival Graves is a determined Percival Graves, and he's worried about Newt.





	what would my head be like | without your smile

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title from Panic! at the Disco's "C'mon".
> 
> I don't own anything but the writing.
> 
> Enjoy!

Percival almost thinks nothing of it the first time that he really touches Newt.

It is after their first few dates, and they’ve become comfortable with each other. Newt is staying in New York semi-permanently, having taken on a job as Magizoology consultant for MACUSA, and Percival has returned to his old position after Grindelwald's short takeover. Somewhere, among the recovery and wild animals, they've built a new trust -- one based on the knowledge that they've seen each other at their absolute worst and neither of them has left. Within that they've even found themselves falling for each other. Newt is now a frequent presence in MACUSA and is most found in Percival’s office, stretched out on the floor with his book manuscript and a marking pen, or down in his suitcase while Percival fills out paperwork (having not recovered  _quite_ enough for field work yet according to Seraphina). Their days are quiet and content; often, the only words spoken throughout the entire day consist of requests for coffee and farewells when Percival walks Newt home at the end of the day. They communicate through brief eye contact and small, secret smiles, and Newt thinks that not even the sugar-frosted Nifflers in Jacob’s bakery are this sweet.

Most evenings, as Percival’s secretary opens the door to remind them of the time, they both heave a simultaneous sigh of relief. Percival caps his pen neatly and sets it in the assigned spot on his desk. He stands, and stretches once with his arms over his head, barely even seeming to notice the copious amounts of popping that come from his stiff joints. He rolls a shoulder, producing more alarming sounds -- "Reminders that you're an old man," Newt calls them with a fond smile -- and begins gathering their things together in an orderly fashion. In contrast, Newt has to remove a sleepy Mooncalf from his lap and settle it in his case before sliding his shoes on again (having discarded them earlier that day as he wandered around in sock feet). When he looks up Percival is already standing there with their coats, and from where Graves is standing, the Scamander's smile is just as bright as the sun.

As soon as they get bundled up enough for autumn in New York and Percival sets the security charms on the office, they begin the walk home, side-by-side. The first few times Graves had walked him home, Newt had simply assumed he simply lived around that way; he had objected when he realized that the other man actually lived on the complete other side of MACUSA. But Graves had said walking with Newt was one of his favorite parts of the day, and that was sufficient enough to make Newt quiet and smile gratefully. They still often don’t speak as they cross through the park, or when they cross the shady alleys, or even as they pass Tina and Queenie's apartment and wave up to them (Newt is convinced Tina would have her coffee on the balcony even if it were to snow. He looks forward to being around come winter to prove his theory correct). It is only when they reach Newt's rundown apartment building and Newt is preparing for the smile and “night, darling” that is now as comfortable as his morning tea, that they deviate from the routine. Percival spontaneously reaches forward and rests his hands on the back of Newt's neck (to straighten his scarf, he supposes) and suddenly Newt can’t breathe. He’s staring, wide-eyed, and an involuntary shiver runs through him. Because Graves’ hands are so warm and so unfamiliar, and he feels so -

_~~Vulnerable?~~ Protected._

“Newt?”

Percival’s steady gaze looks concerned when he finally comes back into himself, and Newt inhales sharply, simultaneously grounded and horrified with his reaction. “Yes, um,” he pulls himself away, backing up quickly, “have a good night, Percival!" With that he turns and rushes into the rundown building, nearly smacking headfirst into the door before ducking inside.

Graves is left alone on the sidewalk, staring at the doorway. He stays there awhile. It is only when he realizes he cannot feel his hands that he forces himself into motion, but his mind is still mulling Newt's reaction over, and when he goes to bed later that night, he finds that he can't sleep for his thoughts.

 

The second time Percival touches Newt, it’s most definitely on purpose. 

He’s been thinking, and for a man as clever as Percival Graves, that is a decidedly dangerous proposition. He's been overly cautious around the magizoologist and he knows it's been noticeable from Newt's newly skittish smiles around him. What concerns Graves is that is isn't as though they weren't dating or didn't know each other well and he had scared shy Newt. It just hadn't progressed to anything physically, and Graves feels like he was slow to realize that. Wouldn't Newt have told him if there was a problem? Graves doesn't entertain the thought that he deserves to know everything in Newt's head, but if it affects them as a couple, he feels he should know. In short, he's worried, and a worried Graves is a determined Graves. Was it something about the vulnerable area around the neck? Was it the scarf? He's going through old records, thinking over old cases for clues, and barely holding himself back from contacting the British Ministry and asking for Theseus Scamander. Graves understands irrational fears a hell of a lot better than the average person -- he still has a whole host of them left over from his time under Grindelwald’s imprisonment. But Newt was there for those, as well as for the shitstorm that was (and is) recovery after it. For all that Newt has held him when he's jumping at shadows, for all he's calmed him when his magic has gone awry, for all that he gives him space when he can't handle himself? Graves would kill for Newt in an instant, without thought, without regret. Because loyalty is damn hard to find in this world.

The second time Graves touches his lover, they have been called into one of the meeting rooms with the rest of the Aurors to go over a new case in the early a.m. It is one of the now-frequent situations where the law and magical beasts are connected, and Newt's expertise is needed. All they are told is that is may or may not involve two pureblood family grudges and some animal trafficking, but due to a few urgent forms his secretary needs him to sign for, Percival arrives a few minutes late. By the time he walks in, everyone is gathered around a diagram of some abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. As always, his gaze is drawn to the magizoologist first -- Newt is in the middle of the huddle, but Percival observes that no one presses into him or leans over him. His Aurors seem to keep their space when it comes to Newt. Almost like he's one of the dangerous creatures they're all, despite what they might say, still wary of. The Brit's jacket and case are discarded in the corner; his white button-down has its sleeves rolled up messily, and his vest is crooked. He's murmuring something softly that the others seem to be agreeing to. As soon as Graves hangs his coat up in the corner and approaches the huddle, they move instantly to make a space for him behind Newt, and he rests a hand on the small of the Brit's back as he begins giving a short summary of the case and what they know so far.

He keeps talking, but he doesn't miss the way that Newt's breath stutters and his eyes droop a little, a small knot of tension seeming to unravel until he is forced to remove his hand.

Percival etches a note in the walls of his mind about it.

The meeting ends in less than an hour with instructions for two Auror teams to assemble -- one to observe and fill out reports on the warehouse over the course of the next week, and the other to do background research on cases similar to this one or involving the same parties for reference. Percival schedules another meeting for next Wednesday and assigns himself to direct the research team. Newt thinks he might have some idea about how the animals are being transported, and is lost in his thoughts the rest of the day. At about eight, they both start packing up -- Graves is so tired of paperwork he's ready to cast Fiendfyre on the lot and be done with it, and Newt has been staring off into the wall for a while now with his brows furrowed -- but today when the Brit looks up with a tired half-smile, Percival has something to say.

"Do you have anything to do tonight?” he asks as he holds Newt’s coat out.

He blinks. “Ah, no. I don't think so?”

Percival smiles a little. “Would you like to have a drink with me? At my apartment,” he clarifies. “I’ve got some Muggle red wine I’ve been saving for a special evening.” The raise of a brow very clearly imply the unsaid -- a special evening, _with a special someone._

Newt flushes brightly, and the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. “Alright, then.”

Newt sends his Patronus to inform the Goldstein sisters that he’ll not see them this evening (“they get worried if they don't see me walking home at a certain time,” he confides to Graves, and Percival thanks whatever deity is above that absentminded Newt has those two looking after him), and they set off. This time they take a different path. They go not through the park, but uptown, towards the more expensive, newer buildings. Newt notices that Percival seems to be looking at him more often than usual but chooses not to think of it, instead commenting something vague about the pretty colors of windswept leaves on the pavement.

Before either of them really realize it, they've arrived, and Graves is leading him through a revolving gold-plated door. “You certainly do well for yourself,” Newt comments without thinking about it, and Percival gives him a sharply fond look as they cross to the elevator. “Seraphina helped me find the place when I was promoted to Director. I never would have chosen anything this…” he glances quickly towards the decor, “...flashy. It brings too much attention.” His mouth twists a little, and he cuts his gaze to the side. "I was thinking about moving, actually. It's obviously not well for security."

Once they finally make it up the elevator and into the apartment, Percival puts Newt's coat up and guides him into the living room, heading directly to the kitchen. "Feel free to wander around," he calls back, knowing full well Newt's affinity for exploration as he gets down a couple of old wineglasses. He smiles to himself just thinking about it.

Newt ventures over to a well-worn wooden bookcase on the other side of the room. His fingers skim the titles lightly, and he tilts his head to the left to better view them. They are quality books, the kind covered in leather and with threaded inlay for the titles, but they look contrarily well-loved, the edges worn and obviously read many a time before. It comforts Newt inexplicably to think that he’s falling in love with a man who appreciates books. But after a few minutes of just appreciating the neat rows, the feeling of eyes on the back of his head is enough to make Newt glance over his shoulder, and Graves is standing there watching. The Director bends and sets two glasses of wine down on a coffee table. “Adequate?” Graves questions, and he is about to reply before Percival continues: “I hope to have yours up there soon,” he says, offhand, like it doesn't mean the world to Newt.

“Come on.” Percival gestures to the loveseat by the coffee table to beckon Newt over, and it's really lucky he said anything at all, because Newt could have stayed there smiling at him forever. He can't prevent his foot from jigging when he sits, but Graves doesn't seem to mind as he hands him his glass and takes a seat on the other side of the couch. It's quiet again, and Newt can't prevent himself from glancing to the side to watch Percival drink, admiring vaguely the way his fingers curve around the glass. The fireplace is warming the room, and his suitcase is by his feet -- he's so comfortable here, he's almost dozing off.

"So, I didn't really have any ideas for tonight," Percival speaks suddenly. "I just wanted to talk about... our relationship?" In the corner of his mind, he realizes that that was probably the worst way to word it, which is why he stops there and lets it trail off into a question. He sees that Newt's frame is suddenly tight and tense and something feral deep in him snarls at the idea that he made Newt uncomfortable.

Newt is caught off guard, suddenly wide awake. He carefully avoids Graves' gaze, and he sets his wineglass down, mouth dry. He's moving like he does when he's confronted with an angry creature, like he's fragile and weak, and Graves can see the fear in his eyes. "What do you mean?"

 

Graves stands, and offers his hand to Newt, and Newt feels like he's about to throw up.  _If he's going to break up with me, why does he have to offer kindness? Just let me leave with dignity --_

\-- and then Percival's hand cups the back of his neck, and he's pulled in, cradled to Graves' chest, and his fear goes blank.

 

Graves' first impression, upon pulling Newt in, is one of unbelievable tension. The magizoologist's muscles are coiled so tightly that Percival has to wonder if this is how he spends every day; he's breathing shallowly, and he hasn't moved to respond to the gesture. Percival almost pulls away, certain that he's triggered some sort of anxiety spiral, when he notices something new -- just within a few seconds, Newt's shoulders have moved down from where they were at his ears a few seconds ago. So he waits it out. And soon, all sorts of other things are following. Newt's head drops to rest on his chest, and his breathing evens out. Percival can feel when his joints unlock, so he adds some gentle massaging on the back of his neck (just thumb and index finger, mostly), and he finds that he isn't even surprised when he feels something wet land on his shirt. And he smiles a little, above Newt's head, because a mystery-solving Graves is a relieved Graves.

For Newt, the experience is something akin to the world exploding. He feels like he's about to break apart, but not in the unpleasant, jagged way he's used to in his bad days; more like he's getting poison sucked out of him and stitching himself back up again. He was surprised and a little bit panicked when he was pulled in, thoughts of anxiety quickly fading to more of  _oh._ Because for Newt, someone whose shyness and eccentricity and travelling has kept people at bay, someone whose only love for years has been creatures and his own thoughts, this is the first time he's been hugged like this since he was a young child. All he can do is melt. His mind has gone hazy, and he can  _feel_ the tension seeping out of his body. He's so overwhelmed by the unfamiliar feeling of warmth that he doesn't realize his eyes are wet.

In the end, both of them pull away at the same time, after a good ten minutes of standing there. Newt doesn't meet Percival's eyes until he feels a finger under his chin, lifting his head up. Even then his gaze still cuts away. He's embarrassed by his reaction and his red-rimmed eyes, and Percival feels a hot surge of protectiveness, but he doesn't say anything. He'll let the British man talk when he wants to. He isn't leaving, and that's something.

It's something big for both of them.

They end up trying to make dinner instead of talking about it. Halfway through the awful Italian dish he was trying to prepare, Percival remembers that you aren't supposed to put metal in a Muggle microwave, and he rescues the family silverware just before his mother has the rights to kill him for ruining antiques. There's a lot of laughter and teasing about his cooking skills (or lack thereof), and finally Newt shoves him out of the way of the burned noodles and makes a call to the local Chinese place for a delivery order. They're both used to eating anything, but even Newt draws the line at blackened Ramen when he has a choice. He's gone down to the case for evening creature feeding when their food finally arrives, and just as Percival finishes dishing it up onto paper plates -- "No antique ones," Newt says with a smirk, "I'm sure you can find a way to ruin takeout as well..." -- he comes back up again, brushing his hands together and smelling faintly of grass.

They sit together on the couch again, and read. Graves has offered all of his collection to Newt to sift through, but he seems to find them all intriguing enough, eventually gathering up a stack of five or six and setting them on the floor beside them for easy access. They haven't discussed it, but from the way Newt's only wearing his undershirt, sleeves rolled up, Graves finds it easy to assume he'll be spending the night. In fact, Percival himself is dozing off a little, hand under his chin, feeling comfortably full and content, when he feels a press against his side and realizes Newt's curled up against him.

"Percy?"

He makes a soft sound of assent.

"I'm sorry."

He's awake now, clearing his throat and blinking, shifting a little to look at Newt. He has laid down, his head on Percival's hip. "For what?"

The responding silence assures Graves exactly what his lover is thinking of. "Oh, Newt. There's nothing to be embarrassed of."

There's a couple minutes of silence.

"I'm just, not used to it..." Newt trails off, insecure, and Graves runs his hand through Newt's hair.

"You don't have to explain anything to me." Percival murmurs. "With all that you've done? I'm glad to be able to take care of you. And you shouldn't be ashamed of having someone who is willing to do that for you."

Newt doesn't respond, but Percival can feel the beginnings of a smile against his hip.

-

They end up curled together and spooning on the couch. Graves has his arm wrapped around Newt's waist, who is tucked into his chest again, and the only sounds are the crackle of the fire in their ears. They're even breathing in time. Just before dropping off to sleep, Graves manages to mumble, "Newt?"

"Mm?"

"I love you," Graves slurs softly, and then he's snoring.

Newt does end up staying the night, and many nights after that. In fact, he stays so long that when it starts snowing and they've stopped by the Goldsteins' for dinner, no one really understands why he starts laughing at the sight of Tina sipping coffee on the balcony. It's awhile before Graves realizes that he hasn't walked Newt back to his own apartment since the night before he said he loved him. He finds that he really doesn't mind.


End file.
